


Two lovers' shadows or A Romantic Drama in Five Acts

by Onlythegodsarereal



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, blink and you miss it Combeferre/Courfeyrac, but for two very minor characters, is this even a thing? I don't think so, minor Bahorel/Bahorel's Laughing Mistress, slighlty mention of murder, séances party, thievery and adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 22:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21327853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlythegodsarereal/pseuds/Onlythegodsarereal
Summary: Les Amis' lives didn't always focus on the revolution and Heaven knows their many adventures were often caused by many other reasons.An invite to Jehan's writer friend's party, some lies and a masked villain are fine enough components to create one of those infamous adventures told here, for the comfort of our dear readers, in five different acts.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Les Mis Halloween Exchange 2019





	Two lovers' shadows or A Romantic Drama in Five Acts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ForksAndArrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForksAndArrows/gifts).

> I'm incredibly late with this Les Mis Halloween Exchange's treat! I wanted to finish it in time for Halloween but I got sick and all my plans flew out the window.  
Anyway, it's finally here! It was such a pleasure to write for Grand-R-siècle, I was so happy that fate decided that I should have written something for them. I hope you'll like it my friend! And happy start of the holidays' season!

_Act I: The Invite or The appearance of an unusual proposal_

“I already said no, R.” Louison’s annoyed voice welcomed Enjolras and Combeferre inside the Musain.

“Oh c’mon, Louise! Musichetta and Sara already promised they’re going to go,” Grantaire insisted following her up and down the counter.

“Chetta and Sara live without their parents and don’t have to work in the evening. Why don’t you ask Flo? She inexplicably likes to be invited out by you.”

Grantaire grunted.

“She liked. Now she doesn’t want to upset her new fiancée by going out with a libertine student or so she said.”

Louison hummed approvingly and didn’t seem to take pity on Grantaire’s dejection.

“My dear friend, what is going on?” Combeferre asked once he and Enjolras reached the other man at the counter.

“Louison is being very unfair to me, as always I might add,” Grantaire answered swinging himself over one of the stools very dramatically.

“Don’t be a child now, R. I explained to you why I can’t come, you’ll just have to find someone else,” Louison reproached sternly disappearing into the kitchen.

“Going where, if I may ask?” Enjolras asked with curiosity. It was unusual for Grantaire searching with so dedication some company for his evening, he was more of a man prone to adventure and, if you believed in his stories, he was pretty lucky usually.

“One of Prouvaire’s friends is throwing a séance party in his villa outside Paris next week, but you can participate only with a companion.”

“A séance party?” Enjolras was sure he had never heard anything like that before.

“She wants to summon the ghosts of two lovers who were killed by one of the two’s jealous lover, or so the legend says, in that same villa a century ago, hence why it is required to bring a companion: to appeal the spirits. Prouvaire has been asked by the hostess herself, Bahorel will go with his lovely mistress while Bossuet asked Musichetta, of course, and Joly refuses to join us because he insists he’s coming down with the flu, so I don’t have no one to ask to.”

“Why don’t you ask Courfeyrac? It does sound like something that he would enjoy very much,” Enjolras proposed helpfully.

“Courfeyrac already asked me,” Combeferre revealed smiling apologetically, “he talked about this party a couple of days ago, I expressed my interest in the field of spirits apparitions and he had been so kind as to invite me as his companion.”

“Feuilly then, he surely won’t refuse to help out a friend,” Enjolras insisted.

“I already asked him, but he has to work the whole week and he’s going to be too tired for the time we’ll have to leave for the party,” Grantaire explained.

“Well, this leaves me then,” Enjolras noted matter-of-factly.

Grantaire started coughing as if something had stuck in his throat. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“I know I’m not the ideal companion for a party of this kind, but I won’t mind spending the evening and I’ll attempt not to bore you too much. Unless you prefer asking one of the thousands of young grisettes who are surely impatiently waiting for your invite.”

Grantaire quickly recovered from the coughing fit and glared at him.

“I was merely surprised you would care to participate in something like that.”

“I told you, I won’t mind spend the evening with my friends and, if anything, it isn’t something you hear about every day.”

“It is set then,” Grantaire confirmed and Enjolras was almost sure he didn’t imagine it when he saw some red coloring his cheeks.

“It is going to be quite an interesting evening, believe me,” Combeferre commented excitedly.

***

_Act II: The Cab or A Journey through emotions _

"This was the worst idea I have ever agreed to," Grantaire commented passing a hand on his face worriedly.

He, Bahorel and Sara, Bahorel’s lovely mistress were waiting on a chariot for Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras outside of the latter’s lodgings. Quite surprisingly, the small triumvirate that was that triad of friends was late.

"Don't do that or you'll ruin your hair," Bahorel warned him.

"I still don't understand why you accepted if you were going to whine about it all night," Sara said mildly annoyed.

"Probably you lost the part where I said that Enjolras proposed it. What was I supposed to do? Say no?"

"Is there something I'm not getting?" Sara asked confused.

"The problem is that you don't know Enjolras," Grantaire answered with a suffering sigh. Sara turned towards Bahorel unimpressed only to see her lover nodding solemnly.

“Well, tell me, what has this Enjolras of so special?” Sara inquired defeated.

“Have you ever had the impression that the world is a cold and dark place where every hope is destined to die and every brother will be forced to fight his own brother?” Grantaire started dramatically.

“Not really, I try to remain positive, you know that. Part of my character is being the always smiling one, remember?”

“But imagine, in this world dark and hopeless,” Grantaire went on ignoring her, “a light appearing from the sky beautiful and terrible at the same time, scolding and comforting, blinding and clarifying. That light is Enjolras.”

Sara remained silent for an instant then turned again towards Bahorel.

“Is this also your opinion on the matter?”

“Oh no, you’re the light of my life my love, but I understand where all of Grantaire’s nonsense comes from. Wait to see Enjolras and you’ll understand too,” Bahorel answered with a knowing smile on his lips.

They didn’t have to wait for long. A couple of moments later, they heard a loud murmur coming from inside the building and immediately after Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras appeared on the door, heading to the cab.

“We apologize for the delay,” Combeferre said getting inside, “but someone took a whole hour to decide what hat to wear,” he concluded looking pointedly at Courfeyrac.

“It wouldn’t have taken that long if you had collaborated a little and gave me some advice,” Courfeyrac replied unaffected by his friend’s insinuations.

“I did!”

“Telling me that I looked fine in all of them is not giving advice, Combeferre.”

“I think that that embroidery looks divine on you, my dear friend,” Bahorel exclaimed embracing Courfeyrac with affection.

“It surely is a quite fine design, would you mind me getting a better look?” Sara asked, Courfeyrac smiled brightly at her words and immediately handed her the hat.

“Combeferre, Enjolras you two look quite fine yourselves,” Bahorel commented after embracing the two of them.

“Thank you, my friend,” Combeferre replied.

“Courfeyrac did insist that the event required a little more care that we usually put in our clothes,” Enjolras added sheepishly.

“It must have been quite hard for you, focusing on something trivial as clothes instead of something really important as the endless suffering of the world,” Grantaire commented with an annoying grin. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Strange, I’ve always been under the impression that one should be kind with the person to whom he owes a favor.”

“Is not as if you gave me a lot of choices,” Grantaire replied.

“What do you mean? I gave you all the liberty to,”

“Sara!” Bahorel exclaimed. “Sara I still hadn’t introduced you to Enjolras. Enjolras, my friend, let me introduce you to my radiant love, Sara. Sara, meet my intrepid friend and partner in many adventures, Enjolras.”

“Mademoiselle Sara, it is a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you from our Bahorel,” Enjolras said smiling brightly and extending his hand which Sara accepted smiling enchanted.

“I’m starting to see what Grantaire was blathering on earlier,” she commented slightly out of breath eliciting a burst of loud laughter from Bahorel. Grantaire retracted in his own corner blushing furiously and Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged a knowing smile while Enjolras looked around confused.

“So, for tonight it’s simply required to act in love. For me and my beautiful Sara, of course, won’t be a problem,” Bahorel reminded them concluding with a bright smile directed to his mistress which was promptly reciprocated.

“For Combeferre and Courfeyrac shouldn’t be particularly difficult too: their everyday behavior towards each other will suffice,” Grantaire commented grinning like a fool. Combeferre blushed and Courfeyrac conceded a small laugh only to turn to Grantaire with malice in his eyes immediately after to say:

“As of for you and Enjolras,”

“I know,” Enjolras interrupted, “no discussions on political matters.”

“Well, I was going to say that Grantaire should take his own advice, but that won’t hurt too.”

At those words, Enjolras’ cheek became redder than a ripe apple and Grantaire take into serious consideration to throw Courfeyrac outside the cab.

***

_Act III: The Villa or The Excesses of Art_

“This place is even worse than your sister’s husband’s in Arles, R,” Bossuet commented after giving a long and assertive look at the almost palace they had been confronted once descending from the cab.

Well, technically Bossuet and Musichetta had arrived on another cab a little after them even though they had departed earlier from Paris. Musichetta had pleaded them not to ask why.

“Has your brother-in-law's house peacocks roaming in the garden too?” Enjolras asked looking at the birds almost in disbelief.

“Does your parents’ house have some?” Grantaire replied automatically.

“There is no need to get defensive, I wasn’t judgmental, I was attempting some humor.”

“Real human beings don’t say things like attempting some humor, oh fearless leader.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m not a human being?”

“Maybe.”

“And what should I be exactly then, if you don’t mind me ask?”

“A marble statue brought to life by the divine touch of Pandemos Aphrodite.”

“What are you even talking about now?”

“Did you do anything else in school outside planning to overthrow the corrupt monarchy?”

“All right, all right, this is enough,” exclaimed Courfeyrac getting between the two of them, “listen to me well you two: this night is important, all right? Prouvaire is very jealous of his writer friends and I’ve waited years to be invited at one of their parties, so now you’re going to stop doing what you’re doing right now, you’re going to put a lovely smile on your faces and you’re going to behave as two gentlemen who fancy each other or I swear on the Almighty I’ll throw you out myself, was I clear?”

Enjolras and Grantaire nodded. Courfeyrac smiled excitedly.

“Perfect! Let’s go now, I can’t wait to see the house.”

“We really made him angry,” Enjolras whispered after Courfeyrac had disappeared behind a bush.

“Angry? He smiled the whole time. I almost laughed when he threatened us,” Grantaire replied unimpressed.

“Thank God you didn’t. Believe me, I’ve known Courfeyrac since we were six years old, last time I saw him like that it didn’t end well.”

“What happened?”

“He filled his two older sisters’ beds with worm and mud.”

Grantaire looked at him disgusted, but also a little impressed.

“How old was he?”

“Twelve. To this day, his sister Charlotte locks her bedroom’s door every time Courfeyrac visits them.”

Grantaire erupted in a loud laugh but didn’t lose the small smug smile that appeared on Enjolras' face.

“I deduce that this attempt at humor went better,” he said looking in front of himself with false nonchalance.

“I told you, no one… you said that on purpose, didn’t you?”

That time he didn’t even try to hide his smugness.

“Maybe,” he simply said turning slightly to his side to give Grantaire a small smile.

Grantaire’s heart skipped a bit.

If from the outside the villa had seemed excessive and opulent the insides reminded of something a Roman Senator could have conceived during the Fall of the Roman Empire.

“I understand having Persian carpets on the walls, I really do, but having them also on the floor isn’t it a bit too much?” Combeferre asked looking around skeptically.

“This really looks like Jehan’s apartment, just worse. A feat that I really didn’t believe could have been accomplished,” Bossuet said inspecting a wooden statue depicting a pyramid of elephants.

“I don’t know, I have to say I really like the scimitars on the wall,” Bahorel replied.

They were introduced to the hostess of the soirée immediately after, by an extremely joyous Jehan Prouvaire.

She was a young woman, maybe a couple of years older than Prouvaire, she had a poufy short haircut just above the shoulder, hear-shaped face and a sardonic smile. She was dressing à la masculine with bright red trousers, the entire ensemble covered by thick fur coat that she was keeping inside her own house. Overall, eccentric enough to be Jehan's friend.

"My dear friends, let me introduce you to the incredible Mademoiselle Christine De Bouterie, journalist, poetess and novelist. A goddess among mortals."

"Jehan, my dear, you make me blush," Mademoiselle Christine protested with feigned modesty before Prouvaire started introducing her to everyone one at the time.

When his and Enjolras' turn arrived Grantaire almost fainted when he felt Enjolras' arm settle around his waist.

"It's a pleasure, Mademoiselle. Prouvaire spoke so highly of you," Enjolras said kindly and Grantaire grunted something that he hoped could be confused with some kind of greetings.

"What are you doing?" he hissed in Enjolras' ear once Mademoiselle Christine disappeared once again in the crowd of her guests. He freed himself from Enjolras' arm even though it revealed to be one of the most difficult deeds of his life. That arm seemed to fit so nicely right there on his waist. But it was wrong, he reminded himself. Enjolras was behaving like that only because they had been menaced of death Courfeyrac-style.

“I’m just trying to behave like we’re, you know… involved,” he whispered back flustered.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Enjolras, just say lovers. Patria is not coming to smack you in the head with her olive branch,” he replied with exaggerated exasperation and then went immediately to search for a glass of wine because he had just asked Enjolras, very aggressively, to call him his lovers and even though those words had come right from his own mouth he had not been ready for that.

Grantaire spent most of the first hour sitting in a dark corner drinking. Enjolras sat beside him in silence.

Grantaire knew he should have asked Enjolras to dance. He was almost sure that Enjolras himself had suggested it earlier, but he had panicked grabbed a bottle of red wine and replied that he rather start with a bit of drinking. Enjolras had remained silent ever since.

Not that they hadn’t gone unnoticed. Both gentlemen and ladies had approached Enjolras to ask him for a dance, but the young man had kept refusing politely insisting that he had promised his first dance to his partner. A blatant lie that Grantaire hadn’t cared to confute.

Again, he knew he should have insisted for Enjolras to go have fun with someone else since it was clear that his mind had decided he wasn’t up for dancing for that evening, but still he couldn’t bring himself to do it and so they remained. Grantaire was sure he had seen Courfeyrac throw a menacing stare at the two of them, but then Combeferre had invited him to dance and he had seemed otherwise preoccupied.

“Monsieur, may I have the honor of a dance with you?” a very fine gentleman asked Enjolras leaning just slightly towards him in a way that made Grantaire’s guts boil with something that was dangerously similar to possessiveness.

“It would be my honor, monsieur, but, you see, I promised my first dance to my partner here. I’m sure there will be another occasion later, but thank you for the invite,” Enjolras answered always ever polite and smiling with a warmth that could have melted the poles.

“Isn’t it funny how, even at an event where it was specifically required to come with one’s own partner, all these people still want to ask you to dance with them?” Grantaire asked after the man had gone back to his group of friends on the other side of the room. He had tried to sound merely observational, but he realized it came out a lot more bitter than what he had hoped.

“They probably took pity on me,” Enjolras answered coolly. Grantaire grunted. Pity wasn’t exactly the right word, more probably people were shocked by the fact that someone as him had come with someone as Enjolras and wasn’t taking advantage of that in any way. To be quite honest, Grantaire had been surprised when the hostess hadn’t thrown them out upon their arrival claiming that a union of that kind was clearly impossible.

Instead of voicing that line of thought though he said: “Hey you’re the one who insisted to come with me, I didn’t promise any dancing, did I?”

He was going to hate himself so much more after that night, he thought bitterly emptying his glass again.

“Listen, I understand that you must be embarrassed to be seen out with me and I know I shouldn’t have pressured you to come with me, but I thought that since you loved dancing so much,”

“Wait a minute. Wait,” Grantaire interrupted him letting his glass almost fall to the floor for the surprise.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, I was under the impression you enjoy dancing, was I wrong?” Enjolras asked slightly taken aback by the question, but before Grantaire could tell him that, no, that wasn’t the part of the phrase that needed to be clarified they were interrupted by a very excited Bahorel who barged in front of them almost jumping on the spot, followed by Jehan and their hostess.

“An adventure waits for us, oh my brave friends!” Bahorel howled excited reaching them.

“Bahorel, I just asked you to be discreet,” Jehan reproached him sternly.

“Oh don’t worry, Jehan, my dear,” Mademoiselle Christine reassured him with an elegant wave of her hand, “I doubt anyone is giving us much attention during the dances that, I couldn’t help but noticing, weren’t of your liking gentlemen.”

Enjolras throw Grantaire a pointed look, but the latter refused to have that conversation in front of the others.

“What adventure were you talking about, Bahorel?” he asked instead ignoring Enjolras’ stare.

“I think I’ll do a better job to explain it myself,” Mademoiselle Christine intervened. “You see in the last few months I’ve been involved with someone whom, at the time, I considered quite a fine gentleman, but, unfortunately, I recently found out that he was more interested in finding out where I keep my family’s jewels than in my company. I, of course, ended the relationship immediately, but before I could do that I may have mentioned the hiding spot of my grandmother’s tiara. I wasn’t worried about it at all until some of the latecomers noticed a masked figure wandering in the gardens. Maybe I’ just letting myself being carried away, but, I’ll admit, I am slightly worried right now.”

“Christine, my dearest, you have all the reasons to be worried, you don’t need to justify yourself,” Jehan said soothingly taking her hand into his.

“Jehan’s right and we’ll help you guard the tiara so you won’t have to worry about it during your party, right friends?” Bahorel asked cheerfully.

“Yes, of course, of course,” Enjolras answered immediately followed by a slightly less convinced nod from Grantaire. “Do you already have a plan?”

“Yes! We’ll take turns. Jehan and I will go first, then Combeferre and Courfeyrac, we already talked with them, then you and Grantaire and finally Bossuet with someone who’ll do a second turn. I offer myself.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“It is decided then. Don’t get yourself in danger, call for help if anything happens,” Enjolras ordered and no one had ever even thought not to follow Enjolras’ orders.

***

_Act IV: The Adventure or A tale of masks kept and lost_

At the stroke of the eleventh hour, Grantaire and Enjolras exchanged a quick look before excusing themselves from their conversation and heading to the staircase that led to the villa’s first floor.

“Could you please make the effort of looking less suspicious? Mademoiselle Christine asked us to be discrete about this,” Enjolras hissed while starting to climb the stairs.

“If you had ever bothered to take part in any of the missions of the Société you would have had more practice in this,” he added after Grantaire had decided to respond with an unconvinced grunt.

“If anything, this is the only situation in which looking suspicious is a lot more convenient than if we didn’t,” Grantaire replied with a smirk turning around and climbing the stairs in reverse to look Enjolras in the face.

“What are you talking about? And stop walking like that, you’re going to break your neck.”

“It’s a ball for couples only, my dear friend, and not every couple, oh no, we’re talking of artist and poets and Romantics, free spirits in unison with the universe. Anyone seeing us climbing these stairs will think only one thing and believe me it won’t be trying to prevent the theft of an old tiara.”

“If what you say it’s true,”

“It is.”

“Then why looking suspicious wouldn’t affect positively our chances not to be noticed, in fact, it’d probably lower them since why should someone look suspicious while doing something approved by everyone?”

Grantaire remained silent for a second and Enjolras seemed already starting to be counting that as a win when he finally replied excitedly.

“Secrecy! Secrecy, dear angel, is the ingredient to an exciting relationship and an exciting relationship is a stable one. That’s why couples act suspiciously as if they were keeping a secret even when it hasn’t been a secret for anyone for very long. I lost my luck many times because I wasn’t able to maintain that excitement in my trysts, the heart thumping in your chest waiting for your lover to show up, the vertigos when you finally see them walking towards you, trying not to look you in the eye to not arise any suspicion, but failing miserably and, oh, the warmth coloring your faces when your eyes meet over the crowd of thousand surrounding you, the harmony of the universe distilled in that single moment in which, with the simple glint of your eyes, you decide which direction to take to hide and the sweet ecstasy pervading your body when you’re finally together far from the inquiring and judging eyes of the people. There is a reason why we keep in our hearts stories like the one of Guinevere and Lancelot and their secret passion or the one of Eros and Psyche in which their love was protected by the covers of darkness. Our souls ache for secrecy and mystery in our lives as much as in our loves.”

“Do you always have an answer for everything?” Enjolras asked rolling his eyes, but even though he had clearly tried to sound exasperated Grantaire didn’t miss the fondness in his voice.

“I try my best, I am told that it irritates you very much when I behave like I just did and I take great pride in that.”

Enjolras shook his head amused.

“I assume that if you’re able to describe those feelings that well, you’ll probably experience them yourself,” he commented then.

Grantaire waved a hand in the air as if to chase away the observation.

“You don’t need experience if you’re an able enough storyteller, but yes, if you really want to know, I’ve done something like that, with fewer people I’d like to admit, but yes, I did. Did you?”

They had arrived in the corridor where the room with the tiaras was supposed to be and Enjolras took his time making sure no one was around instead of answering.

“No, I never did,” he answered finally.

“Would you like to?”

Enjolras seemed to reflect on the question before shrugging carelessly.

“I’ve never thought about it before. I guess I wouldn’t be completely opposed to it if it happened with the right person, but I don’t have time to chase someone like that around Paris, there are more important matters to focus on these days.”

“You can’t let your whole world orbit around the cause, Enjolras.”

“Why not?”

“Because there are more important things in life than…”

“This is your opinion, an opinion that, as you well know, I don’t share, at all.”

“You don’t share it, because you never tried anything different!”

“What would you even know about what I tried in my life?”

“Enjolras? Grantaire?” Courfeyrac’s voice interrupted them before their argument could go any further.

“Yes, it’s us,” Enjolras answered.

“I told you I heard the sound of bickering in the corridor,” Combeferre said coming out from a room on their right immediately followed by a snickering Courfeyrac.

“We weren’t bickering,” Enjolras protested, “we were having a constructive argument.”

Grantaire and Courfeyrac rolled their eyes.

“Did something happen while you were guarding the tiara?” Grantaire asked.

Combeferre shook his head.

“No, nothing.”

“If we’re lucky Mademoiselle Christine worried for nothing and I just got to avoid embarrassing myself in front of everyone trying to dance,” Enjolras commented entering the room.

“He refused to dance for this whole time?” Courfeyrac asked exasperated.

“I’m afraid it was somehow my fault,” Grantaire explained, “even though I could not explain why.”

Courfeyrac seemed intentioned to reply, but Combeferre took him by the shoulders and guided him away from the door before he could say anything and so they left, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire alone once more.

They were in an elegant guests’ bedroom. The bad had an embroidered canopy and the sofas were of velvet, numerous paintings were hung on the walls and there was a large fireplace even though there was no fire in it. Everything was covered in darkness except for the light of the moon filtering through the windows and solitary candles which had probably had been lightened up by Courfeyrac or Combeferre.

“Behind which painting is the tiara hidden?” Grantaire asked. He had completely forgotten what their hostess had told them earlier. Enjolras sighed, but then pointed at the huge painting of Artemis with her hunters over the fireplace.

“Isn’t that a bit too obvious?”

“She does have a flair for the dramatic after all,” Enjolras commented sitting on the bed.

The silence stretched between the two of them like something horrible and cold or so it seemed to Grantaire who, finally, couldn’t bear it anymore.

“So, have you ever tried?”

“Ever tried what?” Enjolras asked confused.

“To do something outside planning the revolution. Since you said I have no idea of what you’ve tried in your life I’m asking.”

Enjolras seemed too surprised to answer, but he was nothing if not a man of action and he swiftly recovered and cleared his throat before answering.

“No, I’ve never actually tried. Not what you were suggesting before at least, but I’ve thought about it.”

“You have?” Grantaire pressed caught off guard by the answer.

“Well, yes. There is a person… someone who made me reflect on how could it be to have something like what you were describing on the stairs. But, as I told you, I have no time to court them. I have no experiences in that nor half the chance to succeed and all that time and effort could be better used in further our just cause.”

“What do you mean with I don’t have half the chance? Have you seen yourself in a mirror recently?”

“I am aware that my looks have their merits, or so Courfeyrac insists, but I know I couldn’t settle for a flimsy adventure of one or two nights, something that my looks could maybe obtain. I’d want something stable, something secure, but for a relationship like that I should offer something and, unfortunately, I have very little to offer.”

“Very little to offer?” Grantaire repeated incredulous.

“Oh Grantaire, please. I’m the worst conversationalist, just to give an example, I remained silent for the longest periods of time which are usually followed by the longest improvised speeches. I can’t dance at all, I have never shown any interest in any sports or in the arts in general and the only things I remember from my studies are politics and philosophy. I’ve spent almost ten years of my life in Paris, but I still know only the same handful of places. Even if they wanted me despite that, I wouldn’t even be able to offer myself completely because a part of me will always belong to the cause, to the fight, and I can’t, no, I don’t want to change that.”

“Enjolras…” Grantaire started taking steps in the other’s direction, but Enjolras cut him with a decisive move of his hand.

“Don’t pity me, R. There is nothing to pity. Yes, I might be not like you full of passions and interests and love and kindness for everyone, for God, you even felt embarrassed being seen here with me.”

“That’s simply not true,” Grantaire protested vehemently taking another step forward.

“Oh please! You barely touched me the whole evening, you haven’t even asked me to dance and everybody knows how much you love dancing. And then you mock me describing in minute details how being here with someone else would be a lot more exciting, as if having forced you to be in this situation wasn’t bad enough.”

Grantaire was still, too shocked by those words to respond or even move. How could Enjolras even think something like that? How could Enjolras not know that Grantaire’s wildest dreams had come true that night and with them, of course, all of his biggest fears and that was why he had behaved the way he did the whole night and… you’ve never told him.

That realization hit him like a wall of bricks. He had always given for granted that Enjolras would have just needed one glance to understand, to know the depth of Grantaire’s devotion and that that would have been the reason to despise him even more.

Instead, not only Enjolras had not understood that he had even convinced himself of something that couldn’t be more possibly wrong.

Grantaire finally found his strength again and took the step that brought him to stand exactly in front of Enjolras, so near he could hear the puff of his breath on his chest.

“Enjolras, you have no idea of what you’re talking about. Bad conversationalist? Who would care about polite talks when one could listen to you sing hymns to liberty and fraternity? The world you're able to paint with your words in front of everybody’s eyes is one-hundredths time better than every painting any artist could ever produce. Your passion burns with the intensity of a fire and the care you have for every person in France and in the world brightens our times’ dark night with the intensity of a million stars. Enjolras, you deserve to be seated on a golden throne on the Olympus of heroes who deserved immortality alongside Antinous and Alexander and anyone who would think differently is an idiot.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras breathed softly, but before he could add anything else they were distracted by loud whispering coming from the hallway: someone was about to enter inside the room. Grantaire reacted without thinking, he reached Enjolras’ face with his hands bringing their foreheads to tough and making sure that both his and the other’s faces were covered. Enjolras, surprised by that gesture, reacted by instinct and gripped Grantaire’s shoulders providing even more coverage.

“Oh! Antoine, it seems like someone else got our same idea, my love,” a woman observed loudly after barging inside the room. Her lover poked his head inside the door shyly.

“Pardon us, gentlemen, we’ll be on our way immediately,” he said guiding the woman outside by her arm.

“Maybe they would have wanted for us to join them!” the woman protested giggling once outside.

“I certainly doubt that, Mimi, you’re as drunk as a hedgehog.”

Grantaire and Enjolras remained still until the two voices faded in the distance and then Enjolras let out a relieved laugh. Grantaire was sure it was the most enchanting thing he had ever heard in his whole life.

Grantaire moved to take a step back, but Enjolras' hands remained firmly on his shoulders.

“Angel, I think it is safe to move now,” he said confused by Enjolras' behavior.

“Maybe,” he replied. His eyes paused on Grantaire’s lips for a moment too long to be unintentional. “Did you mean everything you said before? About me?”

Grantaire’s mouth had suddenly become incredibly dry. They were still pressed one against the other and Grantaire could feel each of Enjolras’ breaths against his skin.

“Yes,” he croaked.

“You’re the person, R. The person that makes me think about having something else, something more.”

Grantaire was shocked into silence for some very long seconds. Then he started laughing. It was a joyful laugh, a liberating laugh, an incredulous laugh.

“For the Heavens above, Enjolras, this is the worst for a revelation like that,” he said between the laughter.

Enjolras wasn’t laughing himself but he was smiling brightly and fondly and Grantaire wished he could stare at that smile for the rest of his life. In the space of an instant, though, his smile disappeared and his eyes got distant.

“Someone else is coming,” he said freeing Grantaire from his grip.

“I don’t hear anyone,” Grantaire commented nearing the door.

“No, not from the door. From the window.”

He quickly stood up and extinguished the candle rapidly. They had barely the time to hide in the shadows near the bed when the window was forced open from the outside and a masked figure made his entrance in the room. He didn’t waste any time and immediately directed himself to the painting of Artemis, but before he could even touch it Enjolras threw a candlestick to his head.

The thief though must have heard him moving because he avoided the hit almost gracefully and produced from seemingly thin air a knife whose blade glinted in the moonlight.

Grantaire was over him in a second. He punched him in the stomach and then on the arm making him lose the knife which Enjolras promptly recovered, but, trying to take off his mask, Grantaire made the error to use both of his hands to grip the thief’s shoulders and he used that advantage to knee Grantaire in the stomach.

Grantaire lost his grip and the thief run for the window.

Grantaire had already a leg over the frame when Enjolras stopped him with a hand on his elbow.

“What are you doing? You’re going to kill yourself.”

“If we don’t follow him, he’s going to run away.”

“Let him run then!”

“Enjolras, this is nothing I haven’t done before. I can do it. Don’t you have faith in me?”

Enjolras looked interdicted for the fraction of a moment but then nodded.

“Of course. Go, but, Grantaire, I have other plans for you tonight so don’t dare put yourself in useless danger, do you hear me?”

“Clearly,” Grantaire answered with a huge grin already halfway down the wall.

“You go fetch Bahorel, it might be that I’ll need some help down there.”

Enjolras turned serious again and immediately disappeared from his view.

Once on the ground, Grantaire started following immediately the silhouette of the thief running in the gardens, but it wasn’t long before he lost him in the night. By the time Enjolras, Bahorel and Bossuet reached him he had disappeared completely.

***

_Act V: The Séance or The lovers’ shadows finally appearing _

Twelve strokes of the clock in the leaving room signaled the arrival of midnight.

“The witch’s hour!” Jehan shouted excitedly.

“Have you seen Enjolras and Grantaire? They disappeared since the incident with the thief,” Combeferre inquired worriedly searching for the couple amidst the crowd.

“Maybe they just went somewhere quiet to rest,” suggested Musichetta reasonably. “After all, that whole affair caused quite the emotions.”

“They’ll miss the séance though, maybe we ought to search for them,” Bossuet commented.

“No, Musichetta is right, I think they had enough for tonight, summoning old spirits could prove a bit too much for them,” Courfeyrac replied even though he was smiling slightly, almost as if he knew something the others didn’t. Before someone could press him on the matter, however, their hostess made her way across the crowd and once in the middle of the ballroom she announced:

“My lovely guests, it is finally midnight, the most favorable moment to invoke spirits and shadows from the Beyond, let’s move ourselves to the leaving room and start the ritual.”

An excited whispering spread to the room and the guest quickly started to move towards the leaving room.

“You did see Enjolras and Grantaire after the thief’s debacle, didn’t you?” Combeferre muttered in Courfeyrac’s ear while walking arm in arm with him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he answered with feigned innocence.

Combeferre rolled his eyes fondly.

“I just hope they’ll also get to talk eventually. Heavens know they need to talk about some things,” he commented shaking his head worriedly.

The room was covered in darkness only slightly diminished by the faint light of the candles scattered on every flat surface. Sofas and dormouse were set in a circle so that all the guests could comfortably sit around the round table in the middle of the room. Incense was burning and everything was covered by scarves and Persian carpets.

Jehan was almost crying for the excitement and kept whispering to his friends of whole the accounts of summoning he had read and how interesting and mysterious they were.

Once everybody was sat Mademoiselle Christine led a quick prayer and then asked all her guests to join their hands and create a circle.

“It is very important that none of you let go of his neighbor’s hand until the hand of the ritual all the connection will be lost, let go only if I tell you so.

“Oh I can’t believe Enjolras and Grantaire are losing this, it so invigorating, isn’t it?” Jehan murmured to Bahorel.

Then Christine started the ritual and in the room fell a silence charged with anticipation.

“We are gathered here to contact the spirit of the unnamed lovers whose lives have been taken in this same room. Please make your presence know, we come in peace.”

There was only silence for some long moments and then, suddenly, a decisive bang shattered the tense atmosphere. Someone shouted, more than a couple of people jumped in their sits and a nervous murmuring spread across the table, but no one broke the circle.

“Spirits, if you are here among us and if you’re willing, we pray you to answers some of our questions, one rap means no and two raps mean yes, so that we may understand what you’re willing to say,” Mademoiselle Christine went on emboldened by that first reaction.

Two loud raps reverberated across the room and the excited whispering only grew louder.

“Is it true that you’re the spirits of two lovers?”

There was no answer for some long moments, long enough that someone started to think that they had let themselves impressed by nothing when a loud rap brought back the silence in the room immediately followed by a second one.

“And is it true that you were killed in this very room?”

Another two raps. That time though it sounded more like someone trying to force open one of the old windows of the living or so Bahorel thought.

“And is it true that you were killed by the jealous lover of one of you two?” Christine went one more and more excitedly.

An oh of surprise raised from the group when only one rap resonated in the room. Mademoiselle Christine seemed interdicted for a moment, but she recovered quickly. In the meanwhile, Bahorel was still thinking how weird it was that those raps reminded him so much of someone trying to open the windows.

“May you, oh kind spirits, give us a sign that could lead us to the true reason of why you’re dead?”

Silence again that stretched for what seemed like ages and then two loud bangs.

One of the windows of the leaving room snapped open, most of the candles in the room expired immediately because of a sudden gust of wind, the curtains flew away and a bolt of lightning illuminated the frame of the window revealing two dark silhouettes of two men hand in hand. It lasted only for a moment then the light of the flash disappeared and with it the two figures. The room fell into darkness. A heavy silence permeated the atmosphere and then, almost as if on cue, chaos erupted.

Someone was reciting a prayer to the Virgin, someone, probably Jehan, was shouting excitedly, Bahorel was pretty sure to have seen Combeferre go to one of the few still lit candles to take notes and someone even throw what Bahorel’s suspected was holy water. Their hostess thanked the spirits for their answers and their guidance and then immediately invited everyone to go back to the better-lit ballroom.

Bahorel offered himself to go closing the window obtaining the silent gratitude of Mademoiselle Christine. A storm had started out and heavy rain had started to pour. Bahorel leaned over to measure how far from the ground it was.

“Nothing that those two hadn’t already done, I suspect.”

“What, dear?” Sara, who had decided to wait for him in the leaving room, asked.

“Nothing, my love, let’s join the others,” he answered shrugging.

“We had enough excitement for one night in my opinion. I say we find Enjolras and Grantaire and go straight back to Paris. Combeferre and Jehan will have all the time they want to gush over this experience in the cab.”

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll need to search for those two,” snorted Bahorel cheerful.

“What do you mean by that?” Sara inquired curious.

“I might have half an idea about where those two might be.”

They quickly rounded their friends and after a last round of goodbyes to the other guests and only after expressing all their gratitude to the hostess they finally arrived in the entrance all.

It was there that they saw Enjolras and Grantaire soaked to the bones trying to dry themselves in from the of the fireplace. Exactly how Bahorel had imagined.

“What in the Heavens’ name have you been doing this whole time?” Musichetta askes surprised to see the two of them there and in those conditions.

“You’re going to get something if you don’t change your clothes immediately,” Bossuet commented worriedly gaining a judging look by Bahorel.

“Living with Joly is changing you,” he said shaking his head.

“I just tried to prove my point to Enjolras about a discussion we were having earlier, about secrecy and keeping the excitement alive,” Grantaire answered, but he wasn’t looking at Musichetta. His eyes were fixed in Enjolras’ who huffed unimpressed but there was a small smile hiding at the sides of his lips and his cheeks were red and Bahorel suspected it wasn’t because of the warmth of the fire.

**Author's Note:**

> Those two will go home and have a healthy talk about feelings and communication, believe me, but just for this time I wanted them to accept their love for each other a little more easily than my fanfics' usual. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this, if you did let me know in the comments!  
Thank you for reading this, i surely enjoyed writing it, love you all!


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